


calm waters (if that serves you best)

by PetrichorIllusions



Category: Kaleidotrope (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Other, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wingfic, technically not canon non-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorIllusions/pseuds/PetrichorIllusions
Summary: “Harrison is quiet about his wings in a way he’s quiet about nothing else. Drew knows a defence mechanism when he sees one.”Or: the Harridrew wingfic no one asked for
Relationships: Drew/Harrison (Kaleidotrope)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	calm waters (if that serves you best)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PetrichorIllusions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorIllusions/gifts).



> Title from Two by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> No explanation for this other than: I wanted it

“What’s wrong?”

Harrison is, for lack of a better word, grumpy. Drew hasn’t seen him this bad since back when he’d thought all the tropes were broken. This time though, he has no idea what’s causing it, and Harrison is reticent, sullen and irritable in turns. 

“I’m fine,” he says, that stubborn set to his mouth he has when he’s doubling down on something out in full force. 

“Harrison…” 

It’s been days, and Harrison won’t even tell him what’s wrong. 

Harrison opens his mouth, no doubt to lie once more, but his body twitches instead, and he shudders, fingers turning to claws at his sides as he grimaces. Drew closes the distance between them in an instant, lifting his hand to his face but not quite touching. 

“You’re in pain?”

The indecision plays out on Harrison’s face, and for a moment Drew thinks he’s going to back away. But his shoulders slump instead, and he leans into Drew’s touch. His eyes are closed when he nods. 

“What can I do?” Drew asks him, softly. Harrison leans forward so his head rests on Drew’s shoulder, and Drew strokes the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want to help,” he says, when Harrison takes too long to answer. 

“It’s stupid.” Harrison says, muffled into his shirt. 

“If it will lessen your pain, there’s nothing that’s stupid, okay?” He tries to pull him closer, to wrap him in his arms, but Harrison goes so suddenly tense that Drew freezes. 

“Sweetheart,” He says, all the worry of the last few days audible in his tone, “what is it?”

Harrison breathes out, slowly, forcibly relaxing himself. 

“Ummotng” he mumbles into Drew’s shoulder. 

“You’re what?”

“I’m fucking moulting.” 

Drew is so surprised he has to stifle a laugh. Harrison, close as he is, notices of course, but he isn’t as annoyed as Drew expects. 

“No, you can laugh. It’s kind of funny. But I’m just- my wings are so fucking _itchy.”_

Harrison is quiet about his wings in a way he’s quiet about nothing else. Drew knows a defence mechanism when he sees one, knows all about making the rest of your life seem so straightforward and open that no one thinks to ask what you’re hiding. But he hadn’t expected Harrison to be hiding wings, of all things. He’d only found out after the Sockhop, when he’d gone to take off Harrison’s shirt, and Harrison, in a haze of endorphins and romance and happiness, had only said _don’t freak out._ He hides them under his clothes most of the time, baggy sweatshirts all the cover he needs given how flat they lie against his back. The black hoody he’s currently wearing is Drew’s, technically too big for either of them but so comfortable that it’s become their Bad Day Hoody. 

Drew’s reporter brain had had a million questions, but back then, Harrison had shut him up with a kiss. He has just as many questions again now, but he knows better. 

“How can I help?” He asks again. The tips of Harrison’s ears are red, and he pulls back just enough for Drew to read his expression. He’s nervous, Drew realises, nervous and embarrassed. The questions bubble back up, but right now, there’s only one that matters.

“You know what will help, don’t you?” Harrison hesitates, but nods. “Then ask me.”

“Will you… will you groom my wings?”

Drew’s breath catches, but he keeps his face and voice smooth. 

“I’d love to.” He brushes his thumb across Harrison’s cheek again, and drops a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He feels Harrison’s lips pull up into a smile, finally. 

“What’s best? Do you want to be sitting down, or-?” 

Harrison nods, but he’s still so hesitant. He’s so rarely like this that Drew doesn’t know what to do, whether to back off, or to push ahead, take the lead. They stay locked in indecision, as silent and still as the house around them. 

It ends when Harrison is wracked by another shudder. 

“Either you need to fix this, or I’m going to do permanent damage to something.” Harrison says, voice tight. 

“I’d rather avoid that,” Drew says evenly, stroking a strand of hair out of Harrison’s face. It changes something, and Harrison seems to relax a little into himself. He sounds halfway to cheerful when he says, “Of course you would. Come on, our room’s probably the biggest. If I sit on the edge of the bed, you should be able to reach.”

Drew follows him up the stairs, trying to calm the thrill in him that’s excited about seeing Harrison’s wings. It won’t be the first time, but it’s a rare occurrence, and it’s even rarer still that Harrison seems comfortable with him touching them. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this, but… he knows he won’t forget it in a hurry, either. 

Harrison sits down on the corner of their bed, and pulls his arms into the hoody to take it off. But he winces when he tries to pull it over his head, dropping it back down before he’s anywhere close. 

“Can I-?” Drew asks, and Harrison nods. Drew kneels behind him, pulling the hoody away from his wings before lifting. Underneath, Harrison is shirtless, and when he’s taken his hoody off him, Drew leans in to kiss the back of his neck. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice unexpectedly hoarse. 

In response, Harrison lets his wings spread. 

There will never be a day when Drew isn’t awestruck by this sight. Harrison’s wingspan is the width of the room, long tawny feathers lightening to creamier fluff closer to his shoulders. Drew is transfixed, all thought forgotten. 

And then Harrison shakes them out, rolling his shoulders, and a whole plume of feathers drift down to the floor. Drew snaps back to the moment, and realises this must be far from the first time this has happened. Though still impressive, some of the feathers have lost their gloss; in places whole patches have clearly dropped away to make room for new growth. In other areas it’s as if the feathers are crowding for space, far fluffier than usual. Drew runs his fingers over them, barely even touching, but the top layer of feathers fall away against his hand. It gives him a much better understanding of the task Harrison is asking of him. 

“Where do you want me to start?” He asks, trying in vain to keep his voice normal. If Harrison notices, he doesn’t say. 

“Could you— the scapulars,” He asks, gesturing to the smaller, fluffier feathers closest to his shoulders. “I can’t _reach_ them.” 

Drew can’t help but let a huff of laughter out, and he kisses the back of Harrison’s neck again in apology. 

Then he curls his fingers into his wings, and Harrison sighs in relief. Drew keeps one hand resting on Harrison’s hip, a tether, his thumb moving idly against his skin as the other runs through the down, loosing another flurry down onto the bed. He does it again, careful, keeping an eye on Harrison’s body language for anything he might not say aloud. But Harrison says nothing, so Drew keeps going, gaining confidence as he clears out the older feathers. He skims across the join between the wings and Harrison’s back, and Harrison sucks in an audible breath. 

Drew backs off immediately. 

“Did that hurt?” He asks, “I can stop.”

“Don’t stop.” There’s a note to his voice that makes Drew wish he could see his face, but he takes his word for it. He rubs his fingers in slow circles, watching the newer feathers fall into place as he goes. The down catches on the longer feathers below, and when he’s mostly finished, he runs his hand all the way down through the longer secondaries below. Harrison gasp this time is much closer to a moan. 

“Okay?”

The tips of Harrison’s ears are a deep red, and Drew can see it staining the top of his cheekbones, too. He’s glad not to be the one blushing for once. He kisses the shell of his ear. 

“It… feels good,” Harrison finally admits. “It feels… _really_ good.”

“Oh,” Drew says. “ _Oh,”_

“Yeah,”

“Well, I - I better keep going then, hmm?”

Harrison turns to him, as much as he can without moving. 

“I mean, you have two hands, you could speed it up,” he says with a grin. Drew leans in to kiss him, and though the angle means he only reaches the corner of his mouth, Harrison leans into it. “But you really have to even this out first.” 

Drew shakes his head, fond, and turns to the other wing. 

Now Harrison has admitted how sensitive his wings are, he doesn’t bother trying to hide the noises he’s making. Drew knows all these sounds, has each of them categorised, and his own body is reacting to them instinctively despite how different this is from the usual circumstances in which he’s coaxing these noises out of Harrison. But Harrison’s wings are most important here, Harrison’s obvious discomfort where the feathers are growing through, so he ignores it. He drops another quick kiss to Harrison’s neck once again when he’s finished with the scapulas on the left, then asks him to angle his wings so he can reach both sides at once. 

If he’d thought Harrison was getting noisy before, it’s nothing compared to this. Each touch is a breathy gasp, and he almost purrs every time a feather falls back into its proper place. It’s slower going, trying to do both sides at once, but Harrison has always been a fan of symmetry when it comes to touch. He slows at the patches that look most tender, and once he’s finished smoothing the feathers, he presses his lips there. 

“God, Drew,” Harrison breathes. 

“I’m almost done,” he promises. 

“Mmm” is Harrison’s only response, and Drew can’t tell if that’s approval or just another reaction to his touch. 

The primaries at the tips of Harrison’s wings are coarser, the darkest of them all. Drew has to kneel on the other end of the bed to reach them. There’s less new growth here, but Drew can’t bring himself to stop, running his fingers through them one by one. He traces the final feathers, reverent, feeling the strength of them. These wings can lift Harrison, if he chooses, but he so rarely does. 

“All done,” Drew tells him, ignoring the little part of him that says to drag it out, make it last longer, moving back towards him. Harrison shakes his wings out again, and then flaps them, just once. The draft knocks a pile of papers off their desk, but neither of them are paying any attention. When he stills, Drew wraps his arms around his waist, kissing the slope of his neck before leaning his head against it. 

“Anywhere I need to go back to?” He murmurs, and feels a shiver go through Harrison. 

“Could you…” despite everything, he still sounds hesitant. “Just- the wing joints again.” Drew’s fingers trace their way out of their embrace, ghosting over his sides. Harrison trembles again as Drew massages the muscles around the joints, suspecting they must ache from holding his wings so still. Harrison’s head falls back with pleasure, letting out yet another of those noises Drew loves so much. He digs his fingers in harder in response, and sees the taut line of his wings drop slightly, more tension drifting away. He eases up the pressure until he’s just rubbing circles into Harrison’s back, and then moves on to the feathered joints themselves. Harrison’s breath stutters audibly every time he drags his nails through the short feathers, until finally he can’t take any more. 

The wings give him speed, if he chooses to use it, and he does now, standing and turning back to Drew in a single moment, wings swirling around them to help his momentum. His eyes are dark, flush high on his cheekbones. Drew suspects he looks much the same. 

Harrison holds his gaze, taking in Drew’s barely hidden arousal. Then he unfurls his wings once again, only this time Drew is inside them, the two of them the only things in a world of wings. 

“God, Harrison,” Drew sounds as wrecked as Harrison looks, and then he’s moving, and Harrison meets him halfway in a searing kiss. One turns into another, turns into another, and another, turns into Harrison pulling Drew’s shirt off him, tossing it who knows where behind him, and then there’s no space between them, arms wrapped tight around each other, glorious friction between them at last. Harrison unfurls his wings just enough to bear Drew back onto the bed, but they stay aloft around him, and Drew swears. 

“Fuck— fuck, Harrison— I need—”

And Harrison understands, pushing down his pants, and his own too, and they’re both too desperate for anything else, and Harrison gets a hand on both of them, their panting intermingling between them. Drew moves just enough that he can run his hand once more across Harrison’s wing joints, and that’s all either of them can take. 

“Fuck,” says Drew again, as they come back down. “Fuck.” Harrison kisses his shoulder, not least because it’s the closest thing to his face. He folds one wing back in and shifts onto his side, pulling Drew over half on top of him. Drew goes pliantly, nipping at Harrison’s neck when his other wing comes down to cover them both.

“Thank you,” Harrison breathes. “Thank you.” Drew smiles into his skin, and it isn’t long before they’re both asleep, wrapped together in their perfect cocoon. 


End file.
